


A Few of My Favourite Things

by apocahipster



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Amnesia, Mentions of Violence, Sound of Music AU, content warnings are:, psycological torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocahipster/pseuds/apocahipster
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are stuck in a Sound of Music AU and they hate every minute of it.





	1. Act I: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post:  
https://long-live-beau.tumblr.com/post/186542267467/concept-crowley-and-aziraphale-sound-of-music-au

In Hell there were demons who spent thousands of years perfecting particular forms of torture, like one might practice a personal craft. With plenty of test subjects at their disposal, they got very, very good at it. There was one demon who had mastered a form of psychological torture where his victims were consumed by a fiction of his devising. Like a dream, no matter how unusual things appeared, they would play along with whatever he had written. He could craft worlds and stories and people so realistic that they could barely be discerned from the real thing. He could torment his victims for years, and years, draw out confessions which would only be uttered in the most specific of circumstances, and if he wrote the narrative particularly well, his victims would never suspect a thing. It’s quite horrific to imagine, and Crowley sure was glad that he was on Hell’s side and would never be subjected to such torment, he thinks, as he ran up the hill towards Nonnberg Abbey.

He had been a practicing satanic nun here for many years, albeit he was a fairly pathetic excuse for a nun. He was heading up the hills clutching his water mister, returning from having snuck out to indulge in his secret hobby of gardening his private collection of rose bushes. It was all part of a master evil plan. Rose bushes were sharp and pointy and maybe one day someone would accidently trip into them. At least, that’s the defence he had prepared for if he was ever caught. On his journey he overheard a conversation, Hastur and Ligur never ones for subtlety, and he was eager to jump into the gossip when he caught wind of his own name.

“That Crowley, he’s talented but he always seems to be up to no good,” Hastur said.

Crowley abruptly slowed his running to a careful sneaking pace instead, creeping his way behind a wall of the church where he could eavesdrop.

“That’s alright then, he’s a demon he’s meant to be up to no good,” said Ligur.

“Nothing bad then,” Hastur corrected. “He’s a good demon but he’s almost always slacking off. Sneaking out to yell at plants.” Oh, so maybe Crowley wasn’t being as secretive as he thought he was.

Ligur’s face scrunched up in revulsion. “Eugh. Come to think of it, you’re right. And he’s always sleeping through demonic prayer service.”

When Hastur spoke again, his voice came out as a melody,

“_A kid climbed a tree and scraped her knee, he helped pluck sticks out of her hair,_

_He saunters his way to unholy mass and whistles during prayer,”_ he sang.

“_He’s always late to corrupted chapel, but his penitence is real,_

_Hell, he’s always late for everything, except for every meal,” _Ligur sang back. Nothing about this melodic exchange seemed odd to any of the witnessing demons.

Hastur let out a mighty sigh.

“_I hate to say it, but the books all balance, Crowley’s clearly an asset to the abbey,_

_But I’d like to say a word on Satan’s behalf,_

_If he’s the best, then Hell’s a laugh.”_

Together they sang the last part of their tune,

“_How do you solve a problem like A. Crowley?_

_How do you catch a clout and pin him down?_

_How do you find a word that means A. Crowley?_

_A blasted-git. A traitorous nit. A clown.”_

The two unleashed ugly bellowing laughs and Crowley began to slink away, careful not to make a sound, overhearing one last, “He’s a headache!” from the pair.

Nigh daily Crowley cursed the abundant number of staircases the convent found it necessary to have inside its walls. He had never gotten much good at using his legs and hadn’t even attempted to master the talent of taking stairs two at a time, so instead he was forced to take them one by one in a quick ascension. Finally, he reached the top of the flight, forgetting to knock as he pushed his way into Lord Beelzebub’s office.

Beelzebub was sitting at a large oak desk, staring at Crowley, anticipating his late arrival to their meeting. “Come in,” they buzzed.

“Beez, I can explain. The roses, they’re part of a truly demonic plan, I just didn’t think I could get it through council, so I took it upon myself in my free time to-”

“Shut up, Crowley,” they snapped. “I haven’t summoned you to hear excuses.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Crowley began, plunging into his excuses anyway. “My legs, they’ve got a mind of their own. I just had to go out and see the plants. And my tongue, my serpent tongue, I can’t seem to shut it up lately.”

“_Lately_?” Beelzebub said with a scoff. “For as long as I’ve known you you’ve never shut up.”

“I mean _singing_,” Crowley said with a whimper. “I keep busting out a song and a tune and I don’t want to do that in front of anyone who could be in possession of ears, so I sneak out when I feel the urge coming on. That’s why I smashed through the stain glass window last Friday during demonic prayer. It was necessary. To save everyone the pain of hearing me sing. I think there’s some sort of curse on me.”

“What have you been singing about?” Beelzebub asked, their anger relenting for a moment in place of morbid curiosity.

“The hills being _alive_. And something to do with my heart. I think my heart is a part of some strange ritual to bring the mountains to life. Listen it doesn’t make any bloody sense to me either.”

Beelzebub shook their head. “I honestly don’t care Crowley, that’s not why I ordered you to come here.”

“What’s this about then?”

“Orders from below. It appears it is the will of Satan for you to leave us.”

“You’re sending me away?” Crowley asked.

“Yes.”

Crowley tried to put on his most sincere apologetic voice, but it came out dripping in sarcasm. “Oh no, don’t do that. Please, don’t send me away.”

Beelzebub just gave him a blank stare, not amused by the charade.

“Well,” Crowley went on, “if it is the will of Satan I suppose I _must_ oblige. Where am I off to?”

Beelzebub looked down at the paperwork before them. “It appearzzz there is a family near Salzburg that needs a governess… or governor I suppose… whichever you prefer to pose as. They say the children are being raised by an angel and he’s turning them into perfect young adults, basically saints.”

“Children?!” Crowley croaked, his playful tone finally eviscerating. “How many children?”

“Four.”

“Four?! I… I’ve only raised- dealt with…” Crowley’s memory went fuzzy. He was _certain_ he had helped raise a child before, at least for a few years. But the memory seemed far away and the more he tried to recall it the further it slipped from his grasp, like waking from a dream your mind was already forgetting. “I… four children is an awful lot.”

Beelzebub was only half paying attention. “Mhm. Great I’ll tell Captain Fell to expect you tomorrow.”

“Uh, Captain?”

“Yep. He’s a retired officer of… says here, the imperial navy. He’s a book salesman now. Also says his wife died several years ago and that’s why he’s alone with the children. Anyway… do your best and don’t let us down. Cause if you do, some not very nice thingzzz might happen to you.”

As Crowley packed his belongings the only thing which stood out as particularly odd about this whole arrangement was the idea that Captain Fell had once had a wife. He didn’t know the fellow, obviously, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he just didn’t seem the type.

Crowley descended the final flight of stairs, kicking the large oak doors open on his way out of the convent. Although he had lived here for years he wasn’t going to miss the place one bit.

Carrying his leather suitcase in one hand and his fiddle case in his other, he skipped his way down the long winding path away from the church. He felt that strange itch on his tongue, a song was coming on, and for once he thought he was rather in the mood to let it be sung.

_“What will this angel be like? I wonder._

_What will my future be? I wonder._

_It could be so exciting, to be out thwarting good, my way!_

_My evil heart should be wildly rejoicing; wait what did I just say?”_

He hesitated on the words, instead muttering to himself, “Should be?! I _am_ rejoicing. I’m a demon. I’m confident and suave and very wily!” he gave his shoulders a shake and carried on the song.

_“So, let’s uncover this angel’s problems, I'll do better than my best._

_I’ll put him through his paces and those kids to a real test!_

_I'll make all of Hell see, the wickedness in me,_

_Somehow, I will impress them._

_I’ll set the worst example, horrible and cruel. And all those children, heaven bless them they will look up to me and admire me!_

_With each step I am more certain, everything will turn out fine._

_I have confidence, the world can all be mine!_

_They'll have to agree I have wickedness in me.”_

The house was large, Crowley observed, and his heart sank with the realisation that that meant it was going to contain a _lot_ of stairs. Still, not as many as the convent, he supposed. Something was rubbing him the wrong way. There was a sense of familiarity about the place. He supposed it was just deja vu. When you’re a six-thousand-year-old demon, you start to see a lot of the same things, and deja vu was a very commonplace occurrence. He pulled the heavy brass knocker on the front door and a moment later it was opened by a woman in her young twenties.

“You must be…”

“Crowley! I am here, I have arrived,” Crowley said waltzing inside. The woman was mildly taken aback by the way Crowley invited himself in. If simple poor manners was enough to rile this perfect household, Crowley had an easy task ahead of him.

“I see that,” she said slowly. “I’m Anathema Device, Captain Fell’s assistant.”

Also in the foyer there was a young man about the same age as the woman, wearing thick rimmed glasses and bearing the look of a man who had never learned how to comfortably inhabit his own body. “I’m Pulsifer, Newton Pulsifer. I’m… well I’m sort of the odd job man around the place.” He held his hand out for a shake and Crowley slapped it in a lame high five.

“Pleasure to meet you Newt! So, where’s the boss?”

The two exchanged a confounded look. “Oh, he’s not going to like you at all,” Anathema said.

“Thank you, Anathema. Newton,” a commanding voice called. Crowley barely noticed the young couple take their leave as he was immediately enraptured by the figure before him. Unlike the sharp jawlines, crisp dull suits and mean square shoulders of the angels Crowley had previously encountered, Captain Fell was a unique contrast. His hair was messy, wispy and white. His suit was tattered and brown and accentuated his soft curves, which flowed like the laugh lines at his rosy cheeks. His eyes reminded Crowley of the blue skies of heaven, a colour he thought lost to him many thousands of years ago, but here it was before him, staring him in the face.

“Are you quite done ogling me?” Captain Fell asked, breaking the spell.

“Could do with a few more moments, you just don’t look like any angel I’ve ever seen,” Crowley said. Captain Fell gave him a stunned look. It took a moment for Crowley to remember that he was in fact, supposed to be posing as an ordinary human, and that he was meant to think the same of Mr Fell. “I mean Captain. Not like any Captain I’ve ever seen.”

Captain Fell looked down at himself, regarding his round stomach with a hint of distain. “Well it’s been a while; I deal in books now hardly a line of work demanding fitness and conformity. And what about you? You don’t look like a governess, or a governor,” he retorted.

“Nanny will do fine.”

“You don’t look like one of those either.” Crowley winked at him. Captain Fell ignored it. “Right, well I suppose you’ll be wanting to meet the children.”

“We don’t have to immediately,” the words more or less slipping their way out of Crowley. “If you wanted to just hand around and chat for a bit, get to know each other-”

Captain Fell stuck his fingers in his mouth blowing a loud sharp whistle, drowning out Crowley’s drivelling words. Crowley reflexively cowered at the noise, barely hearing the thunderous footsteps of four children running down the hall. They stumbled into the room one by one, almost tripping over each other. “Be good children and introduce yourselves to your new nanny.”

“I’m Brian and you don’t look like any nanny I’ve ever seen,” said one boy with dark hair.

“Brian, that’s sexist!” said a girl with dark skin and curly hair. “A man can be a nanny too!”

“It’s not because he’s a man, it’s because he’s dressed like _that_.”

“What?” the demon was taken aback. “Is it the skinny jeans? I think they look good. You like them don’t you Aziraphale?” Crowley asked doing a little dance on the spot, trying to show off his best angles.

“I… My name is Captain Fell,” the man responded.

“Well then what do you think, _Captain Fell?”_ Crowley asked snidely.

The angel scowled at the name. His eyes gave away a hint of a complicated emotion… discomfort? The name didn’t fit right on Crowley’s tongue as he had said it, and he wondered if it didn’t fit right in the angel’s ears when he had heard it either. ‘Aziraphale’ had just slipped out accidently, but somehow it felt natural. Correct.

“I suppose the skinny jeans and open shirt is… not exactly… professional,” Captain Fell said.

“Business standards of professionalism and professional dress are based on colonial westernisation, and well as masculine dominance in the workforce,” the girl piped up. “Personally, I think anyone should be able to dress however they want for any job so long as it fits into Operational Health and Safety guidelines. Also provided that they remain fully clothed in the presence of children and co-workers who might uncomfortable otherwise. My name’s Pepper by the way.” She stuck a hand out to Crowley. The demon shook it enthusiastically.

“An honour,” he said trying to supress the widest grin of his life.

“I’m Wensleydale, and actually, I rather like the way you dress,” another boy said, shaking Crowley’s hand next.

“Can’t say the same unfortunately,” Crowley said. The kid couldn’t be older than thirteen and yet he was dressed like a thirty-two year old IT manager. Crowley gave the collar of the kid’s white button up shirt a flick before he turned his attention to the last child. “And you are?”

The last kid, a blonde haired boy, crossed his arms and instead of acknowledging Crowley, turned a glare toward Captain Fell. The Captain raised an eyebrow at his son, and they shared a momentary silent standoff. “This is Adam,” Captain Fell introduced. “He likes to think he’s the problem child, but really he’s as sweet as anything. He’s just stroppy because I wouldn’t let him get a dog for his birthday.”

Captain Fell reached a delicate hand to the back of the boy’s head and drew him in close, kissing his forehead. He then kissed the forehead of each of the other children one by one. Crowley caught the way the children’s shoulders sank in anticipated dismay. “I must be off, I have a rather hefty tome to finish transcribing and rebinding before dinner. The children will show you around.” The children’s eyes lingered on Captain Fell as he took his leave, disappearing through a set of old doors.

An angel could sense love, but a demon could sense despair. Yearning and loneliness emanated from the children at the absence of their father, filling the room and nearly knocking Crowley right over.

“Well now that the ole slog is gone, why don’t you tell me who you all are, _really,”_ Crowley said, walking down the line of children and inspecting them one by one.

“What do you mean who we are really?” asked Brian.

“You all put on polite shows, pretending to be perfect children while daddy’s watching, but inside every child there’s a little devil,” Crowley said, stopping in front of Wensleydale. He leaned in to the timid boy, closely, and snapped his jowls making the boy jump back an inch. “What’s some things you like to do that your father doesn’t approve of?”

“Well… well I… we…” Wensleydale began to stammer. “We all sneak out quite often and ride our bicycles around the hillside. The Captain’s usually too busy to notice, even when we come back late and all muddy.”

“The Captain? You refer to your own father as the Captain?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” huffed Adam, finally speaking to Crowley for the first time. “He’s super uptight. Like I get that he used to be in the army but he doesn’t have to act like it at home. Sometimes a kid just wants to play around and have fun, you know?”

“Trust me,” began Crowley. “I know a thing or two about parents who are too strict. You gotta let kids run amok, make fun of you, ask stupid questions. It’s the only way they can breathe.”

“What’s this then?” asked Brian picking up one of Crowley’s cases.

“Oh, that’s my fiddle,” said Crowley, joy suddenly picking up in his voice. And, oh no, that stupid itch was beginning to build on his tongue again. “So we can all sing together.” Oh heavens please no.

“We don’t sing,” said Adam.

“We don’t know how,” said Wensleydale.

Crowley sighed with relief. Unfortunately, his mouth had other ideas and instead forced out the words, “Of course you do. Everybody sings. I- CAN- SHOW- YOU- NGK-” he tried to hold his lips closed, bit his tongue as it forced out the final word, “HOW!”

The kids pulled him into the next room, a lounge room, and he was shoved down onto a horrendously upholstered couch. Before he could escape the children all crowded around him in a circle.

“Uh let’s… start with the basics,” said Crowley pulling out his fiddle and giving it a test tune. “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Te.”

“What’s that then?” asked Brian. “Some kind of demonic chant?”

Crowley let out a wicked laugh. “Oh that would make my life too easy wouldn’t it? No, it’s the basic chords for singing. Uh, let’s make it a bit less of a tongue twister, how about… Okay let’s try this.”

He cleared his throat and lifted up his fiddle and bow.

“_Do – a deer, with hoofs like Satan_

_Re – a band of blessed gall_

_Mi – a name, invoking pride_

_Fa – a long, long way to fall_

_So – a demon growing plants_

_La – a uh… um… a note to follow so…_

_Te – a drink to spill on parents_

_And that will bring us back to Do!”_

Repeating the song over and over as they went, the children showed Crowley the rest of the house. It was gigantic and had a superfluous number of rooms. All the bedrooms were upstairs, and Crowley’s measly belongings easily fit into the small one designated for him. There was a large main room with a fireplace. A children’s playroom which looked like it hadn’t been touched in seven years or so. A kitchen and a separate dining room. The doors to Captain Fell’s office were closed and locked and Crowley wondered how long it would take for him to get a look inside, if ever.

The kids were polite, too polite, and Crowley spent the better half of the afternoon trying to convince them to join in on a practical joke.

It finally paid off at dinner time, where Crowley watched eagerly from behind the doorway into the dining room as Captain Fell made his entrance. The children all stood attentively behind their chairs, waiting for their father to take his seat first. Adam could barely contain his smirk as he watched the man sit down and then yelp in shock, leaping out of his chair.

“What the devil is going on!” Captain Fell shouted, reaching down to the chair and holding up the offending pinecone which had been placed there. “Who did this?”

Crowley was cackling manically as he made his entrance, plopping himself down on a chair. Captain Fell glared at him. “Don’t look at me, I only just got here,” Crowley said, propping his feet up on the table as he leant back in his chair.

Captain Fell’s mouth hung agape. “Are you insinuating that one of _my children_ are responsible?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, they would _never_.”

“No, we would never,” said the children in unison. Their father looked amongst them, simply at a loss for words. Cautiously he took his seat again and the children followed suit. The pinecone was placed on the table.

“Oh, lighten up angel, it’s just a little practical joke,” Crowley said. The Captain was still frowning as he picked up his fork and dug into his food. “Um, excuse me _Captain Fell_. Can’t eat yet, it seems as though we’ve forgotten to thank the Lord?”

The Captain somehow looked wearier than before as he put his fork back down. “_Of course_,” he said with a sigh and he took the hands of Pepper and Wensleydale who were sat either side of him. Crowley took Brian and Adam’s hands. “Oh Lord, bless this food, may it fill our stomachs heartily. May it rid away the uptight-ness of stroppy book salesmen, loosening them bit by bit so they may some day comprehend the idea of fun. Amen.”

Crowley grinned at the Captain. The Captain pulled a snide grin back.

They got less than a minute into the meal before Crowley spoke again, much to the Captain’s dismay.

“Yours then? The children?”

The Captain nearly choked on his food. “Of course they’re _mine_!”

“Really?! Can’t be… not all of them at least. I mean…” he waved his fork in Pepper’s general direction. The girl glared at him and crossed her arms. “She may have her father’s scowl and vocabulary but not much else.”

“That’s racist,” she said.

“Rather,” Captain Fell muttered. “I invite you into my home and-”

“Come on, work with me Aziraphale! You’ve got to also see that none of this makes any bloody sense.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the Captain said, finally putting down his cutlery.

“None of this! How do you have four children, each the same age, and they look nothing alike. Beyond that, what’s up with _you_, letting _me_, a complete stranger, come into your home, take care of your children, without so much as an interview? You’re too clever to not see through a plot by my church, it’s run by absolute morons. And what’s the first thing I do when I step inside? I start singing. What’s that all about? It’s ludicrous!”

Captain Fell was stunned. All the children stared at the two of them, hungrily taking in the argument. “My office. _Now._”

The doors to the office slammed shut with a loud bang, and the Captain locked them abruptly.

“Now do you mind giving me one good reason why I shouldn’t pick you up by the scruff of your tacky shirt collar and haul you out of this house through the third-storey window?” the Captain’s voice boomed.

Crowley crossed his arms and leant against the wall, almost knocking a framed portrait off of it. “Would you?” Crowley asked. “No, seriously Aziraphale, give it a try, I’m curious to see if it’ll actually work. If we act on the one damn thing that makes any sense to do right now.”

“_Captain Fell_.”

“That’s not your name,” Crowley hissed.

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It… it must be,” he said, but his face gave a betraying quiver as he said it. “It must be my name. What else would it be?”

“Come on, work with me angel,” Crowley said. “_Aziraphale_. It sounds right doesn’t it?”

“Angel,” the Captain repeated.

“What?”

He released a sigh, his aggravated posture loosening, and moved out of Crowley’s space to sit down on top of his large oak desk. “Angel you called me angel. It’s what I am. I’m an angel. And I don’t know why I’m still pretending to not know that you’re a demon.”

“You know I’m a demon?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. I knew it instantly. I could smell it on you. Quite hard for your sort to hide it from angels.”

“Damn I thought I was being very clever.”

“Maybe you were, but you’re at a natural disadvantage, I’m terribly sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Surely a good father doesn’t let his kids be cared for by a demon?” Crowley asked.

“I… I’m not sure why not. It seems nonsensical in retrospect but I just sort of… let it happen.”

“See, same here. Ever since I woke up yesterday morning everything’s felt wrong,” Crowley said. “Like… I’m acting in a way that I wouldn’t normally. I normally dance but I certainly don’t sing! And… okay… okay, I feel like… as though… I almost knew I’d be coming here. Like I could predict that I’d wind up on nanny duty in some ridiculous manor working for some handsome but unbearably uptight tosser. Does that make any bloody sense?”

Captain Fell’s stern face held for a moment before it finally relinquished into something softer. Something bordering on familiar. “I’m afraid that makes too much sense. I admit, I rather think I know what you’re talking about. I’ve been acting in a way that seems not myself. Meaner. And I feel like I knew you would be coming, too. That you would start singing and that you’d make me do some stupid prayer at dinner. It’s almost like… like I’m reading a story again for the first time in many, many years. I know major details and I know intimate ones, but then there are details big and small I’ve completely forgotten which come as a total surprise. This conversation for instance, I could never had predicted it.”

Crowley spied a bottle of whiskey in a cabinet in the corner of the room. With a click of his fingers the cabinet unlocked, and he delved in, popped the stopper and took a small swig. “So what? You think we’re going mad, simultaneously?”

“Highly unlikely… can never know I suppose…” Aziraphale elicited a sigh, holding out his hand. Crowley passed him the whiskey. He took a long, long drink from it. “I love those children, I would never put them in harm’s way. I know that they’re _mine_ and I know that I love them. And somehow, I know that you’re not a danger to them.”

“Okay see that’s another thing,” Crowley said as he began pacing the room. “What’s an angel doing with human, _mortal_ children? You’re going to live forever and they’re going to die in a matter of eighty years, and that’s if they’re lucky. I mean, when you’re as old as we are that’s _nothing._ You’re a creature of love. You already lost the wife, only a matter of relatively short time before you lose the kids too.” Aziraphale looked downright distraught at hearing the words. “Oh don’t give me that look, be practical for a second angel. We’re used to _eternities_. Do you know how long eternity is, I mean do you know, do you know how long eternity is?”

“You could literally climb every mountain,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley’s attention snapped to him. “Say that again.”

“You could _literally,_ climb… every… mountain…” the angel’s words grew slow and solemn. “Ford every stream,” he added.

“A bird could fly to the end of the universe and back, over and over again, and you still won’t have finished watching…”

It dawned on them simultaneously. Terror filled their voices, and together they said those cursed words. “The Sound of Music.”

Aziraphale and Crowley dove for the whiskey at the same time. Crowley snatched it first and started to chug.

“So what, we’ve been mindlessly acting out this movie? For what purpose? Someone’s cruel idea of a practical joke? And what happens now that we’re cluing on?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley paused for a deep breath of air. “Don’t jump the gun, we don’t really know fuck all of what’s going on.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Aziraphale mused. “Not past yesterday, not clearly. I remember that I _had_ a wife but I can’t recall her face, or anything about her. I know who my children are but I cannot tell you a thing about the past thirteen years raising them.”

“I’ve been a nun for as long as I can remember, but I don’t really know how long that is. But well… I know that your name is Aziraphale, and not Captain Fell. As for me, Crowley feels right, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does.”

Crowley returned to drowning himself in the whiskey, pausing only to ask, “Listen, what if… what if we try our best to stop playing along?”

“Wouldn’t bother me none, I don’t much like being Captain von Trapp. I hate it actually. He’s so distant. Being forced to be him is like some form of torture.”

“Well I don’t much fancy being Maria either. Well… I say that but I can already feel the soul of demonic Maria clawing her way back inside of me, trying to get me to dance hill-folk jigs and give the children cuddles and kisses.”

“At least you still get to be more or less yourself. Von Trapp is quite the bossy pants. Always locking himself away and frankly, he’s a bit of a prick. Nothing like me at all.”

“Well actually…” Crowley began purposefully let the sentence trail off. Aziraphale glowered at Crowley and swiped the drink from his grasp.

“Whatever the case is, there’s funny business going on and I am interested to find out what,” Aziraphale said. He took a drink and spoke on. “Don’t suppose it’s in our power to totally demolish the plot of the musical? Say I went upstairs and smothered one of the children in their sleep. Then what?”

“Only one way to find out. Mind you, I’ve already broken the rules a little, sang a song out of place,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Do Re Mi, it’s meant to be sung tomorrow, out on a hill I think? Bugger I hope I don’t have to do a reprise.” Crowley eyed the alcohol desperately.

“Nonetheless, we don’t want to go ruining things until we have a firm grasp of what’s going on. Lest we both be suffering momentary psychosis and hurt someone we love,” said Aziraphale. “What say you we just stay locked in here, drinking the night away?”

Crowley sat down on the desk beside him taking the drink. “Not the worst plan, angel.”

For the first time since meeting him, Aziraphale smiled. His face was very expressive when it was showing an emotion other than grumpiness and distain. Joy looked at home on his face, pushing the pillows of his cheeks, crinkling gently at his eyes. He was incredibly beautiful. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s stare, held it, and for a moment they looked at each other like two old friends sharing a companionable silence and a drink. Then there was a knocking at the office door.

“Captain von Trapp? I do believe it’s time the children were seen to bed,” called the polite voice of Anathema from the other side.

“Very well,” Aziraphale called back. Quieter he turned to Crowley. “Well, that’s your queue to leave, don’t want the children thinking that we tore each other apart in here. Send them my best. I’m going to spend the night researching. Try and get… some kind of grasp on what’s going on. Or who you really are, at least. In the meantime, sing some songs and do your dances and let’s hope we figure this out before we meet the play’s end.”

“Right. Well, good night, Captain Fell,” Crowley said standing and throwing a salute.

“Please, call me Aziraphale.”

The kids were already settled in bed by ten, having brushed their own teeth and hair and put on their pyjamas. They truly were good children, and Crowley was silently grateful to who or whatever was responsible for the peculiar predicament he was in, that this change in the story of the Sound of Music had been made. If they had been the troublemaker children from the original story, he couldn’t guarantee that demonic miracles wouldn’t be flying about the place, wrangling them into subordination.

As Crowley bid them goodnight, he sensed the sadness of each child, as they wished it was their father tending to them instead. He knew Adam was hiding comic books and a torch under his bedsheets, and Crowley slipped a couple of batteries onto the bedside table to ensure the kid could spend the whole night reading. He also snuck a few candies under Brian and Wensleydale’s pillows for good measure.

The last was Pepper, who was reluctant to put down the copy of Pride and Prejudice she was deeply invested in. Crowley read her the last few passages of her chapter before shutting the book and turning out her bedroom light. He stood to take his leave when she spoke up. “By the way it _is_ possible for two white parents to have a black child. They just need to carry the right recessive genes.”

“I know. It’s just very unlikely odds,” Crowley responded. “Then again, I’m a satanic nun trapped in the Sound of Music, so I guess it wouldn’t be even close to the weirdest of things to happen around me.”

Crowley made his way to his own room and opened it to find Anathema toying with one of his mechanical star maps.

“An… Anath… assistant girl, what are you doing in here?” he asked, more curious than upset. He didn’t particularly mind the intrusion. Despite being a satanic nun on a mission to corrupt an angelic household, he wasn’t hiding many secrets. Only delicate equipment for satanic rituals, should he require them.

“Anathema,” she reminded him, rather hastily putting down his possessions. “I brought silk,” she said, patting a pile of the fabric which was sitting on Crowley’s bed. “Captain Fell had these sent. For your new outfit.”

“Oh, how kind of him,” Crowley said, reaching for the silk. “I know bugger all about sewing, but I think I’m going to need much more than this. Also, some black denim.”

“How many outfits does a nanny need?” she asked, confused.

“Not for me. For the kids. I think it would be a riot for us to all have matching shirts and skinny jeans.” Crowley couldn’t believe the words as he said them. They were _ridiculous_. But then again… “Just picture it with me Anathema, the four children trailing the countryside, all in matching clothes, singing demonic little chants.”

“The Captain doesn’t allow Satan worship,” Anathema said. “Ever since his wife died he’s been clinging to his devotion to heaven. Running the house like a little convent almost. Faith out of desperation if you ask me.”

“Tell me anything about her, can you? The dead wife?” he asked folding the silk. It was a rich red and seemed of fine quality.

“No, not really. But… he is leaving for Vienna tomorrow.”

“Vienna?” asked Crowley

“Yes. There’s this Baroness and he’s been spending an awful lot of time with her. If you ask me… he might be marrying her very soon.”

“Oh, is that so?!” Crowley pressed, trying to hide the genuine shock creeping into his voice. His memory of the play was rusty at best, and this part had completely slipped his recollection.

“Well… it’s just gossip. Probably shouldn’t be talking about this at all… I hope the silk is to your liking, I should really be going. Goodnight Mr Crowley.”

“Goodnight,” Crowley said, waving her off. The moment the door shut behind her Crowley was climbing out of his bedroom window. He pushed himself out into the cold night air and spread his wings for a moment as he fluttered down to the first storey window below his. He pounded on the glass loudly making the angel inside jump in shock. Aziraphale looked about his study, jumbled, before placing the source of the noise and opening the window.

“Crowley!” he said in a huffed whisper. He shivered as the freezing air blew inside rustling papers around the room. Crowley scrambled through the window and Aziraphale hastily shut it behind him. “What’s the meaning of this?!”

“You’re the one getting married!” Crowley said waving his arms about in a frenzy.

“I’m what?!” Aziraphale asked.

“You’re going to Vienna tomorrow and you’re going to elope with some baroness. That’s the rumour anyway,” Crowley said, picking up a book at random. He half read the cover, something to do with the circles of Hell.

“Marriage! I’m not getting married, not anytime soon.”

Crowley’s eyes darted to another open book, looking at a pictogram of an angelic ritual. “That’s not what word on the street says… So… what can you tell me about the dame?”

“Nothing! I don’t know a blasted thing about her,” Aziraphale began. “I just sort of… know that she exists, and I’ve met her many times and she’s very pretty, her name is Elsa and she likes ponds and…” he rubbed at his eyes wearily. “Can we take a walk Crowley? Nothing makes sense lately and I’ve been reading too much and my cocoa went cold and I want to bounce some ideas off of you.”

Crowley sauntered over to the window and opened it again, “Well after you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do you _want_ to wake the children by going through those ridiculous monolithic front doors of yours?”

“Don’t blame me, blame von Trapp,” Aziraphale said looking supremely frustrated as he began to climb out of the window. It was a large window but the angel was, ironically, not a creature of grace. He more or less fell through it, which wasn’t much more impressive than Crowley’s long-limbed scramble following him.

They clambered out of the bushes below the study window, collected themselves brushing their clothes down with their hands, and then began their stroll. Outside was an intricate garden, clearly well-tended to which Crowley could appreciate.

“So, what have you uncovered in your research, _Captain_?”

“Barely a thing,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t even know where to start looking. It’s all just hunches and feelings, barely scientific. We can’t even be certain that I’m not _really_ Captain Azira Fell and you’re not really Anthony Crowley satanic nun. Can we?”

“Certain is just a matter of opinion. Do I look like a nun to you?”

“No not at all.”

“And do you look like a Captain? Member of the military?”

“Your outstanding evidence is making me more certain by the minute…”

“Thing is, I don’t know who else I’d be,” Crowley said.

“Well… presumably, our memories have been tampered with. Not just lightly, I mean some serious work has gone into this. And if serious work has gone in, I think it most likely means heaven or hell, or worst case both-”

“Dear Pepper, I would like to be able to tell you how I feel about you,” came a voice through the still of the night. Crowley and Aziraphale froze, looked to each other, and then dropped into a low crouch. They crept closer, remaining cautiously silent.

“What do you mean _how you really feel about me_, Wensleydale?” came the judgemental voice of Pepper.

From the darkness of the garden there was a soft glow of light. Crowley and Aziraphale soon caught sight of the scene. A gazebo was in the middle of the garden with several twinkling lights illuminating its walls. In the middle stood Wensleydale and Pepper. Aziraphale and Crowley found a rather luscious bush to claim as their hiding place where they could watch on.

“Well… I’m not really sure actually,” Wensleydale answered. “I think I’m about to start singing a bunch of words and I don’t know what they’re going to be, but I think I have to sing them otherwise something bad will happen.” Loudly he added on, “I think I need to play my role otherwise people I care about will get hurt, _very badly_.”

The angel and the demon exchanged a look.

“I think I know what he’s about to start singing,” whispered Crowley. “And she is not going to like it one bit.” Aziraphale didn’t respond, instead his face held that tight expression which he wore when he was thinking very hard.

Wensleydale’s face on the other hand, was filled with absolute terror as he began to sing,

_“You wait, little girl, on an empty stage_

_For fate to turn the light on_

_Your life, little girl, is an empty page_

_That men would want to write on.”_

Despite fear quaking his words, Crowley and Aziraphale had to admit, Wensleydale’s voice was still quite impressive.

“Little girl?! Who are you calling little girl? We’re the same age Wensleydale and I don’t take kindly to being called a little girl!”

“Well Pepper,” he said fixing his glasses, “Maybe _you’re _being sexist for implying that being called a little girl is derogatory.”

Pepper’s hands fell to her hips. “And how does the rest of this song go? Hm? I have a bad feeling that it’s going to be extremely heteronormative. We’re only thirteen, I’m not ready to kiss boys yet. Plus, you’re my brother, or my stepbrother, I’m not really sure. Regardless, this is all highly problematic.”

Crowley’s giggling was almost uncontainable by this point.

“I think you’re right, and I don’t really want to kiss you either, no offense,” Wensleydale stammered. “But I think we have to keep playing along otherwise really bad things will happen_._”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Aziraphale said, standing up from his hiding place and trundling his way onto the gazebo. “I’ve got the message! Now, run along children, get thee to bed. Crowley and I will take this song.”

“_Angel no_,” Crowley whinged, reluctantly following him out of the trees. “I was having the best time watching that why’d you have to go and ruin it?”

“I’m glad _someone _was entertained,” Pepper said crossing her arms.

“Yeah nice to know my torment’s a joke to you,” Wensleydale said, but it was clear that he was extremely relieved.

“I’m a demon, it was _hilarious_ to me.”

The two kids harrumphed as they turned and took their leave. Crowley and Aziraphale watched them go, standing in silence. The demon had to admit, the fairy lights were quite pretty, and reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes they looked like a million stars in the night sky.

“Uh so… how, does this song go again?” Crowley asked now that they were alone.

Aziraphale had a plan. He was certain their conversation had been purposefully interrupted, and more so, he knew that this song had to be sung. How accurately it had to be done was another question he was going to find the answer to. He cleared his throat.

“_You are six-thousand sixteen, going on six-thousand seventeen_

_Crowley, it's time to think,_

_Better beware, be wily and watchful_

_Crowley, we’re on the brink.”_

The angel stared at him intently as he sang, and slowly the pair began to circle each other. Aziraphale continued,

_“You are six-thousand sixteen going on six-thousand seventeen_

_Demons must fall in line,_

_Eager young angels and devils alike_

_Will offer you food and wine_

_Totally unprepared are you_

_To face the world of heaven_

_Timid and shy and scared are you_

_Of things beyond your ken_

_You need someone stronger and wiser_

_Hinting you what to do_

_I am six-thousand seventeen going on six-thousand eighteen_

_And I will take care of you.”_

The angel was half tempted to throw in a wink just to hammer home the fact that he was trying to send Crowley a message but winking just wasn’t his style. He hoped, prayed, that Crowley would clue on.

Crowley began to sing,

_“I may be six-thousand sixteen going on six-thousand seventeen_

_But I am not bloody naive_

_Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet_

_But fellow you better believe_

_I am six-thousand sixteen going on six-thousand seventeen_

_Innocence is only a pose_

_Bachelor dandies, drinkers of brandies_

_I know what to do with those!” _

Crowley didn’t pick up the crestfallen expression which sank its way onto Aziraphale’s face. He also didn’t pick up on Aziraphale mentally screaming at him, ‘No you great buffoon, I wasn’t flirting! I’m trying to save both of our lives!’ But Crowley _was_ flirting, and he continued on, passionately.

_“Not totally unprepared am I_

_To face the world of heaven_

_Not shy and certainly not timid and scared am I_

_Of things beyond my ken_

_Yes, I need someone older and wiser_

_Telling me what to do_

_You are six-thousand seventeen going on six-thousand eighteen_

_And baby, I'll listen to you.”_

Unfortunately, winking _was_ Crowley’s style. Aziraphale was beyond frustrated by this point. Also, it was cold and he was tired, and still a little drunk from earlier. He grabbed Crowley by the hand, spun him in a twirl, and then pulled him in closely and roughly by the hips. He relished in the way the demon froze, the way he didn’t dare breathe as Aziraphale drew his face close, inches from Crowley’s and hissed, “You play Maria. I play von Trapp. If we don’t, whoever’s in charge is going to _kill_ my children. And if that comes to pass, I will hunt you down and smite you where you stand, demon.”

With his threat done, the angel released Crowley and stormed off the gazebo, disappearing into the night.


	2. Act I: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few of my favourite things...

The next morning there was a hearty thunderstorm raging outside. Crowley woke to it like most people would wake to a soft beam of sunlight warming their room, gently and at peace. With a click of his fingers he was groomed and dressed in trousers and a half buttoned up shirt, ready to face the day. And he opened the door to see four children running around screaming.

“Blimey, kids what’s going on?”

“It’s raining!” said Wensleydale a cry.

“Disastrous!” shouted Brian.

“Absolute catastrophe!” said Adam, swinging on the bannister railings. That looked pretty dangerous, thought Crowley.

“It’s one of the days the Captain’s gone and we can’t spend it playing outside!” moaned Pepper.

“We’re going to get so bored stuck inside,” Brian said.

Crowley rubbed his head in exhaustion. “Children, ugh, gosh, calm down. There’s plenty of fun to be had inside.”

The kids gradually settled down, but they were clinging to Crowley’s side, desperate for him to entertain them.

“Like what?” asked Adam.

“Like uh, drawing on the walls… I love doing that. And I love breaking expensive jars but making it look like an accident.”

The kids all stared at him dumbfounded.

“What else then? What other things do you like to do, nanny Crowley?” asked Pepper.

“I like to…” he began, already regretting every choice he had ever made leading to this moment, “put glue on the bottom of chairs…” He recalled Aziraphale’s words from last night. The harsh warning, the threat. He had to play along, do what came naturally, at least for now. At least until… until what? It didn’t matter, the angel was smart and Crowley was going to work with him, at least for now. “And I like… well… why don’t I sing about it?”

Magically, Crowley’s fiddle appeared in his hands.

_“Teardrops on noses, and whiskey on ice_  
_Bright copper fires for dark sacrifice_  
_Brown haired arch angels all tortured with stings_  
_These are a few of my favourite things_

_Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels_  
_Thrown into Tartarus, feeding hellhounds like noodles_  
_Wild geese that stay away from me and my wings_  
_These are a few of my favourite things_

_Bookmen in dress shirts with blue satin sashes_  
_Snow coloured hair matching his gentle eyelashes_  
_Like silver-white winters that melt into spring…”_

Crowley roughly cleared his throat before the kids would pick up on his lost train of thought.

_“…These are a few of my favourite things._

_When the hound bites_  
_When the Beelzebub stings_  
_When I'm feeling sad_  
_I simply remember my favourite things_  
_And then I don't feel so bad.”_

The kids began to follow Crowley’s example, singing about things they all loved as they sped around the house running amok. First, they played a game of Brian’s devising, climbing the curtains in the main foyer, and using them like a swing. Then everyone helped Pepper nail several of her handwritten essays and manifestos to the wall of the hallway. Crowley’s long legs meant it was his job to reach the highest parts of the wall. Adam made everyone help him draw a mural on the dining room table, copying art of aliens and spaceships from one of his comic books. Finally, Crowley thought it would be beneficial to teach the children how to cook. Flour covered the kitchen as the five tried desperately to put out a rampaging fire on the stove. When Newton arrived at the manor in the afternoon, his scream could be heard all throughout the house. Crowley liked to think he was rather good at being a nanny.

The next day was much finer weather. After a quick miracle performed on the bundles of silk in his room, Crowley took the children on a hike to the nearest village to introduce them to the delights of gluing coins to sidewalks while wearing matching skinny jeans and red silk shirts. There was an offhand compliment from Pepper about the gender equality of identical non-sexualised outfits.

There was a small market and Crowley taught the children sleight of hand tricks, nicking fruits and candies and passing them subtlety amongst each other so no trader’s eyes could keep track of all the hands moving at any one time.

Crowley grabbed three tomatoes and juggled them, ignoring the sputtering rage of the wholesaler. He tossed one to Wensleydale who missed the catch and dropped it, watching it splatter. His face started to tear up, but Crowley simply shot him a thumbs up and tossed a coin to the farmer.

By lunchtime they made their way up a hill and sat together to share a meal of ill-gotten goods. “This was so much fun, can we do this every day?” asked Pepper.

“Of course! You never get tired of it,” said Crowley.

“I haven’t had this much fun since we pushed Newt’s old car into that ditch,” said Adam.

The kids all exchanged a knowing giggle as they reminisced.

“I don’t understand how children as devious as you can put up with all the rules and goodwill of the stuffy old Captain?” Crowley asked biting into an apple.

“How else are we meant to get his attention?” said Pepper. “He only gives us praise for doing the right thing. And as for the wrong thing he just… ignores us and leaves it to someone else to deal with.”

“Suppose that’ll be the baroness’ job if the two of them get hitched,” Crowley said.

“Do you reckon she’ll like to sing?” Brian asked.

“Must do, if she’s in this play,” said Crowley.

“We should sing with her then,” said Pepper. “Maybe we should practice more. Let’s sing that song you taught us the other day. With the basic sounds.”

“Oh great, a reprise, I bloody knew it,” Crowley grumbled.

To his dismay, the children sang the song in full.

With the blink of an eye Crowley and the children were on bicycles, speeding through the countryside in different matching clothing, and the children were singing the fateful words, _“Me, a name, invoking pride.”_

Crowley blinked again and everyone was riding horses, _“Far, a long, long way to fall,” _almost as soon as Crowley lost balance and tumbled off the rear end of the animal.

Before his head could collide with the ground, bringing him a longed-for concussion, the lot of them were suddenly at a fountain. It was yet another day and the children were singing his song as they ran around playing. Crowley was getting rather fed-up with this musical. Not only that but it had been a _long _time since he’d seen Aziraphale and he was beginning to miss him quite a lot.

It was several days later and Aziraphale found himself trapped in a car.

“Oh the mountains are magnificent, Azira. Really magnificent,” baroness Elsa said, clutching his arm.

Aziraphale sat back in his seat clearing his throat. “Yes, yes they’re quite… lovely.”

Max, a musical agent and their mutual friend, leant over. There was a ridiculous grin on his face. “Put them up just for her did you? Eh?” he let out a hearty laugh and the baroness joined in.

“I’m sure… I did… probably. Did I? My memory of the play is getting a little hazy at this point, I do apologise,” Aziraphale muttered. He could more or less anticipate that a romance was supposed to blossom between he and Elsa. Or maybe it had been blossoming between them over the past few days, his recollection of which were cloudy at best. “Um… I don’t remember inviting you here?” he said to both of his company.

They interpreted it as a comment directed only at Max. “Well I invited myself, of course. You two needed a chaperone, and I needed a superb wine cellar.”

The car pulled up to Aziraphale’s villa and he found himself offering the baroness a stroll. It was a lovely day out, the sun was warm, and as the baroness was one to comment, the view of the countryside was divine. In fact, that was just about the only comment she seemed capable of making. Repeatedly.

Elsa was beautiful, objectively. She was young, with glowing skin, pink lips and white hair. She actually reminded Aziraphale of himself in his younger days. He’s sure von Trapp was enthralled by… countless conversations of mountains and… finance… but what he wanted was a night at the theatre, an in-depth and critical analysis at an art gallery, someone who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and sink his teeth into an argument… _I mean, her mind_,_ her teeth,_ Aziraphale corrected his inner thoughts.

“You know, I think you’re really at home here,” she said, pulling him back to his unusual present reality.

“Amongst the birds and the flowers and the wind that moves through the trees like a restless sea, hm?” Aziraphale prompted. He was hoping that his words will inspire her, possibly to make her create something in return.

“How poetic!” she simply said, with a look of adoration on her face.

“Yes, it was rather,” Aziraphale answered glumly. He was already growing weary of her company, longing for a distraction, the next song to start up even, when on the water he caught sight of a little boat being manned by several hard to make out figures. “It couldn’t be, is it?” he let go of Elsa’s arm and headed to the edge of the water.

On the boat Crowley spotted him. “Daddy’s home children, row to shore!” he pointed towards Aziraphale and the children began rowing, all except for Pepper.

“This is an unfair distribution of labour, why aren’t you rowing?” Pepper said with a scoff.

“Because I’m lazy,” Crowley said. “Come on, pick up the oar otherwise we’ll be stuck going in circles all day. Besides, don’t you want to see your dear ol’ Dad?”

Pepper resisted for a moment longer before she relinquished and picked up her oar.

Crowley stood and turned to shout to Aziraphale, “Hi ho Captain!” And then the boat capsized. Aziraphale watched the catastrophe from afar, as the five splashed around trying to stay afloat while dragging the boat and oars ashore.

Once on land the children were shivering but crowding around their father and the baroness to greet them. Aziraphale offered them distant pats on the shoulder, attempting to avoid getting river water on his nice suit.

“Alright children, head inside to dry up before you catch a cold. Elsa why don’t you find Max while I have a word with the nanny?”

The group followed his command, and Elsa was more than glad to get far away from the hoard of soaking children.

“Don’t think I’ve seen a shipwreck like that since the Titanic,” muttered Aziraphale to a soggy Crowley.

“Do you mean the movie or the actual boat? Cause it was a disastrous film,” Crowley shot back, with a grumble. Aziraphale looked at the soaking wet demon. His usually pointy hair was plastered to his face but he still had his devilish charm.

“Is teaching my children to row all part of your hedonistic plan?” Aziraphale asked reaching forward and swiping some of Crowley’s hair out of his yellow snake eyes.

“Amongst other unbecoming behaviours. And where the bloody hell have you been?”

Aziraphale’s face fell into concern. “I’m not entirely sure, to be perfectly honest. I’ve been with the baroness, she’s a nice enough woman but…”

“Not your type eh?” Crowley asked, taking off his button up shirt and wringing it out onto the grass. Aziraphale averted his eyes from the half-naked demon.

“I don’t have _a type_. I’m hardly interested in _anyone_. All I’m concerned with is getting to the bottom of what’s going on and hopefully escaping before the end of the play.”

“If you ask me, we’re being tortured,” Crowley said.

“What do you mean?”

“This whole thing. Us, being stuck in the Sound of Music, listening to the repetitive drivel of singing children and brainless baronesses, forced to play these dumb character roles. It’s all probably part of some sort of elaborate torture, why else would there have been a scene with a horse?”

“Ah yes, torture. Look at this beautiful sunny day? With all this lovely music and joyful children. What horrid acts did we do to deserve such foul treatment?”

“Wait… why do you want to solve it before the end of the play?” Crowley asked, putting the wet shirt back on with a hiss at how cold it still was.

“Well you know, the end of the movie…”

“No, I don’t know,” Crowley said.

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s the Sound of Music, it’ll just be the same as how the movie ends. Don’t you remember how it ends?”

“No, I just never watched past the first act.”

“You what?!” Aziraphale sputtered.

“There was an intermission and I left to take a piss and I realised that bathroom trip was the most fun I’d had in the past hour and a half so I just… left the cinema entirely.”

“Well you’re in for a _nasty surprise_.”

“Don’t tell me this story actually gets interesting?” Crowley asked.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Aziraphale teased, turning and heading towards the house. Crowley followed after him, stumbling in his skinny jeans which had shrunk as they dried and were now vacuum sealed to his legs.

“You can’t do that! Come on, whatever’s going on we’re in this together. You have to tell me. It’s not my fault I didn’t stick through it, the play goes on _for_ _bloody ever! _Who wrote this damn thing anyway?”

“Do you mean the movie or the musical? Or perhaps the book?”

“Blimey there’s a lot of iterations of this story. And here we are making yet another one.”

“Not by choice,” said Aziraphale.

“_Certainly not.”_

“Come on Crowley, it’s not all bad. The story’s got a good message about family and love and anti-fascism,” he said, a little defensively.

“It’s unrealistic nonsense.”

“Actually, it’s based on a true story.”

“Well then,” said Crowley. “All the proof you need that God isn’t listening anymore.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said with abated breath. He paused in his stride, took a deep breath in, released a sigh and with it a mountain of frustration. Almost timid he asked, “Is it really so bad?”

“It’s a goddamn never-ending nightmare,” Crowley said firmly.

“Yes, it is long, but it also has its redeeming features. Some scenes which make it almost _worth_ enduring. Surely there’s something in this world you enjoy?”

“Hmm… the kids are pretty fun to mess with,” Crowley said.

“Yes, they are lovely,” Aziraphale said. “But… well is that all?” Now he was staring at Crowley, and Crowley finally looked back at him. No glasses, no heavy desk or stuffy books, no bottle of whiskey separating them. Just an angel and a demon, all cards on the table.

“No nothing. The songs are terrible. Worst of all, the kids have been singing the same one over and over for the past few days. Whatever you’ve been up to, _heaven,_ compared to what I’ve endured.” Aziraphale’s heart sank. Wait… no, why should it? What had he been hoping for? Crowley was a demon. He was wicked, and cruel and only there to tempt his children into becoming evil sinners. Aziraphale should never have opened his heart up to even the _possibility_ of Crowley being his friend. Surely the flirting had been… had been a ruse. Demons don’t do romance. They manipulate people for their own wicked goals. It was probably just a way to lower Aziraphale’s defences.

“I’ve been enduring bland conversations and highbrow soirees, I was looking forward to returning to company more my speed,” Aziraphale said bitterly. “If you think of anyone who fits the bill, let me know. Better yet, you won’t get the chance. I want you gone. I don’t know what got into my head, letting a serpent-tongued fiend into my home, leaving him to whisper temptations into the ears of my children. Nothing but false promises and deviance you lot.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open. “What?! You can’t kick me out! I’m- we’re- the two of us are the only ones who- what?!”

“Begone. I should never have welcomed an evil menace into my home.” Aziraphale turned and marched his way to the front doors of his manor. The moment the doors were pulled open, melodic voices came through, reaching Aziraphale’s ears.

_“The hills are alive with the sound of music…”_

Aziraphale threw Crowley a quizzical look but the demon was distracted with wringing water out of his hair. The angel headed inside following the sound.

_“With songs they have sung for a thousand years…”_

“Is that…” Aziraphale barely whispered as he rounded the corner and saw his four children, back in their familiar uniforms. They were surrounding the baroness, serenading her.

“_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music…”_

Aziraphale was stunned. In however many years he had been raising these children, since their mother passed, he had never seen their faces filled with such pure joy. Happiness he had been unable to bring them. They sang together, completely at peace. A tear almost slipped from his eye despite the demonic presence he felt behind him.

“Yeah I might’ve, uh, taught them a song while you were gone. You know, teaching them to work together makes them better at pulling off combined schemes and-”

Aziraphale lifted a finger to Crowley’s lips with a shush, not taking his eyes off the children. Crowley did take his eyes from the children however, instead drifting his gaze to Aziraphale whose face held the broadest smile Crowley had ever seen in his very long life. Aziraphale left him, walking into the room and picking up on the last few lines of the song, ending with a final,

_My heart will be blessed with the sound of music, and I’ll sing once more.”_

“Oh Captain, you never told me how charming your children are,” the baroness said once the song had died and Aziraphale was hugging each of his children. Crowley slipped from the doorway and headed to the stairs.

“Barely knew myself,” he heard the angel answer. “Hold on a tick.”

A moment later Aziraphale had caught Crowley’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To pack my things. I’m an _evil menace,_” Crowley pointed to himself, “Remember?”

“No, I was being… brash. Crowley, like it or not, you’re a good influence on those children. Under my tutelage they were miserable. Their talents and personalities squandered. You’ve brought spark out of them. Mischievousness yes, but they’re not Hell incarnate. They’re simply… children again. How wonderful? How brilliant is that? All thanks to _you_.”

Crowley stared at him, trying to read the angel. One minute furious and vengeful, the next grateful and praising him. It was more than a demon could handle. He glanced over at Elsa and whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, “I want the baroness gone. Max too.”

Aziraphale whispered back, “I know. I do too but… they’re vital to the story.”

Crowley let out a groan. “Ugh can this play get any worse?!”

There was applause and the swell of music. Crowley, sitting with the children crammed behind a makeshift puppet theatre box, let out a groan. “I’m not doing it! You can’t make me sing this dreadful song!”

“Come on Crowley! It’s not so bad,” Aziraphale called from the couch.

Crowley poked his head out from around the side. “It’s humiliating!”

“You’re supposed to stay hidden!” Brian whispered at him.

“I’m not singing it! And I’m certainly not doing the puppeteering!”

Aziraphale huddled off the couch, crawling up to the box. “Crowley, you have to play along.”

“Now more so than ever I’m certain that we’re being tortured,” Crowley grumbled.

“It’s not _that_ bad.”

“You do the blasted thing then,” Crowley hissed.

“I can’t yodel,” Aziraphale said.

“And you think I can?!”

“I think you can,” Aziraphale said. “The children are there to sing with you so… Buck up!” He gave Crowley’s shoulder a weak punch.

Crowley gave him a final glare, and whispered, “Like I said, _torture_,” before Aziraphale slipped out of his sight, returning to the couch.

Crowley let out a mighty grumble and lifted his hand carrying the lederhosen wearing shepherd puppet.

“_High on a hill was a lonely crooked_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo_

_Lusty and clear from the crooked’s throat heard_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo”_

The children sang the yodelled lines along with Crowley, leaving the actual lyrical thinking up to him.

_“I’m gonna murder whoever wrote this _

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo_

_A principality on the edge of a castle couch heard_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo” _

Crowley heard the distinct smack of Aziraphale face-palming. Oh, if he hated that, he was going to loathe that came next.

_“One little angel in a pale beige coat heard_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo_

_He yodelled back to the lonely crooked_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo_

_What a duet for an angel and crooked_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo_

_Happy are they lay dee olay dee lee o_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo…”_

As Crowley’s voice naturally continued to yodel, he allowed his thoughts to linger on that last line. He had considered changing it to _‘tortured are they’_ but there was something alluring about the idea of this fictional couple he had just devised remaining happy. A crooked demon and an angel, falling in love in the midst of nowhere. Over singing. Imagine that. A happily ever after. Not even anything ridiculously poetic, or dramatic. Just finding someone who loves the same things you do and bonding over them, and being together. Without consequences. Happy. Content.

He was drawn from the fantasy by applause and cheering on behalf of Aziraphale, Max and Elsa. The children were whistling and high-fiving each other.

Crowley climbed out from behind the theatre letting his spine crack as he straightened out his body, completely red in the face, supremely embarrassed and utterly stripped of his dignity. He glared daggers at Aziraphale but the angel just beamed a warm smile back at him. Crowley knew a lot about angels. He knew that they could sense happiness and that they soaked it in, bathed in it, regenerated from it. And in this moment, Aziraphale’s children, whom he loved more than anything, were euphoric and in kind, Aziraphale was eating it up. And Crowley’s stupid little song made that happen.

The children began to pester Max, thanking him for the puppet show box; and Aziraphale, still beaming warmly, approached Crowley. “Not a word angel,” Crowley said.

“I was just going to say that, I am very, very much impressed.”

“They’re your children,” Crowley said.

“No, I was talking about your yodelling. You could herd cattle from miles away with a throat organ like that,” he said with a whimsical laugh.

“I’m going to murder you before we reach act two, you know that? The intermission will be all the time I need to clock you over the shiner, drag your body into the orchestra pit and queue up for a drink and snack with plenty of time to settle back into my seat for the rest of the show,” Crowley said. “I’ll take Max out too for giving us this stupid puppet box. He deserves it.”

Aziraphale just smiled more passionately. He ran a hand up Crowley’s arm, and it felt like he was striking alight a burning match over his skin. “The blue silk looks good on you.”

The countess’ glare from the couch was ignored by the both of them, but harder to ignore was Max’s triumphant voice.

“Attention! Attention, everyone! I have an announcement to make! Surprise, surprise. Today, after a long and desperate search, I have finally found a most exciting entry for the Salzburg Folk Festival! A singing group, all in one family. You’ll never guess Azira.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and recited von Trapp’s line, “What a charming idea! Uh, whose family?”

“Yours!” Max said and Crowley caught the way Aziraphale soundlessly mouthed the word at the same time.

“Ohhh,” said Aziraphale in feign surprise.

The children went ecstatic at the idea.

“They’ll be the talk of the festival!” beamed Max.

“Max,” Aziraphale said with half-hearted firmness, “My children do _not_ sing in public.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying,” he said.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Crowley felt the anguished waves of disappointment radiate from the children. He wanted to see them happy again. Wanted Aziraphale to dine on their joy once more. He quickly huddled the children together and conspiratorially they all whispered. Following Crowley’s instructions, Brian bolted out of the room, returning moments later with Crowley’s fiddle case. The demon passed it on to Aziraphale.

Now it was Captain Fell’s turn to go red in the face.

“Oh no, no, no, no.”

“Come on Captain, you sang to me once.”

“Yes, but that was you,” he said back. He shot the baroness a worried glance. “You’re familiar and they’re…” his voice lowered to a whisper, “they’re strangers.”

Crowley’s grin grew wider.

“Please father!” said Wensleydale.

“Yes, please father,” said Brian.

“Please, please, please,” said Adam, who was the most eager to see his father make a fool of himself.

Aziraphale shot one last, desperate glance to Crowley. “You’re right, we must be being tortured.”

He sat down and lifted the bow to the fiddle, testing a few notes.

_“Edelweiss, Edelweiss,” _he began.

“No don’t sing that gibberish,” Crowley groaned. “We’re English, sing God Save the Queen.”

“That’s not part of the play, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped back. Elsa looked very confused.

“I’ve been changing songs non-stop, doesn’t seem to cause too much trouble,” Crowley said.

“Also, we’re not English. Heaven isn’t in England.”

“Fine then, sing some Queen or something. Bust out a good old, _We will Rock you._” Aziraphale’s lips pulled tighter in a grimace. “Oh bloody hell, Edelweiss is fine, just get on with it then.”

“Ahem,

_Edelweiss, Edelweiss,_

_Every morning you greet me,_

_Tall and dark, ripe with snark,_

_You look happy to meet me,”_

Aziraphale shot Crowley a soft smile, and Crowley began to detest the song a little less.

“_For my beaux, my heart blooms and grows,_

_Blooms and grows forever_

_Edelweiss, Edelweiss,_

_Bless my sweetheart forever_,”

His eyes fell to the baroness. She gave him a loving smile but Aziraphale’s own expression held stagnant, then faltered for a moment. Crowley nudged Pepper’s shoulder and she approached her father. They exchanged a smile and together they sang the last refrain.

_“Edelweiss, Edelweiss,_

_Bless my sweetheart forever.”_

Aziraphale gave Pepper a tight hug before she re-joined her brothers.

The angel turned a kindly smile to Crowley. He had been smiling an awful lot lately. It was a stark contrast to the grumpy ‘Captain Fell’ Crowley had first met. He much preferred Aziraphale. Crowley smiled back at him.

“Well… what did you think?”

“Angelic,” Crowley answered. “Not that I’d expect any less from you.”

The baroness let out a sharp cough. “I have a wonderful idea, Azira!” she said, rising from the couch and dragging Aziraphale into her arms. “Let’s really fill this house with music. You must give a grand and glorious party for me while I’m here.”

The children’s eyes lit up.

“A- a party?” Aziraphale stammered.

“Oh yes father please!”

Elsa snuggled closer on Aziraphale’s arm. Crowley snuck his way around the room to a display cabinet spotting an ancient bottle of wine. Elsa’s doughy voice continued to fill the room. “Yes. I think it’s time I met all your friends and they met me. Don’t you agree?”

Crowley conjured himself a wineglass, topped it off and sauntered back.

“All my friends?” Aziraphale continued. “I would have a rather lot of them, I suppose? And… in my house… all… of them… that would be a lot of people… to have in my house… all at once…”

“Oh please, oh please, oh please!” chorused the children.

“V-very well then,” Aziraphale said already looking overwhelmed. His voice had trailed to almost a whimper. Crowley, unsubtly, poured his drink over Aziraphale’s head.

“Oh clumsy me Captain, let me fix you right up,” Crowley said, harshly taking a hold of Aziraphale’s arm, yanking him from Elsa’s grip and dragging them both into his private office. “Put yourselves to bed children, I’ll be there in a minute!”

The door shut with a bang.

Aziraphale stood completely drenched in the middle of his office.

“I imagine we haven’t got long,” Crowley said with a click of his fingers which dried Aziraphale instantly while refilling his wineglass. “Come on angel, it’s been a while. Any new theories?”

“Theories? I… well… I have no idea what to wear to a party…” he said.

“Oh for Hell’s sake, focus Aziraphale. What the devil is going on with us! Why are we in the Sound of Music?! I keep remembering snippets of who I really am. Who you really are. But I haven’t got the whole story yet,” said Crowley.

“What have you go then?”

“Well, I’m a demon, around six thousand years old, and you’re an angel, a principality. And even though we’re on opposite sides, I get the feeling that in the real world, we’re sort of friends. That’s… about the most of it I can piece together.”

“That’s… that’s the most of it you’ve pieced together?!” Aziraphale guffawed. “For heaven’s sake you’ve only figured out that we’re _friends_. Good God…” Then he screamed a final, “Fuck!”

Crowley downed the drink in one go. “Fine then, what do you think?”

“For starters, I think we’re in some kind of hallucination,” Aziraphale began, leaning against his desk. “It’s probably part of some sort of… test… to get us to do the right thing. Or maybe it’s just like you said, some kind of torture. Maybe both. Look, my research says that there are demons, and angels even, who are capable of warping the mind, but not like this… only to a slight degree. _This_ is… this is some _powerful magic_. We must’ve pissed off someone very, very strong, and pissed them off very, very much.”

“What’d we do that was so bad?”

Aziraphale was staring at the floor. “Magic like this… bending the minds and wills of an angel and a demon… could only be done with a collaboration between heaven and hell. What do you think we did that upset both of them so much?”

“I think we stopped the apocalypse,” said Crowley.

“Oh I think we did something much worse than that. In their eyes, at least.”

“What’s worse than stopping the end of the world?”

“Many things.”

“Well then if you have it all figured out why don’t you just bloody well tell me already,” spat Crowley, growing impatient.

“Because I want you to figure it out too.”

“Ugh, this is already a chaotic mess to try and untangle. I don’t know Aziraphale!”

“You’re on the right track. We made things _messy_. Did something both sides want to sort out and clean up because it ruins the administration of things.”

“Yes, like stopping the apocalypse,” said Crowley.

“No! Yes that is a part of it, but come on Crowley… If you can’t remember, can’t you at least feel it?”

“Feel what?! Angel, I’m suffering here and you’re my only friend in all of this! Will you just tell me what you think is going on!” Crowley’s throat stung as he shouted. He forced himself to calm down, and added, quietly, desperately, “Please.”

“I think… I think…” Aziraphale’s eyes finally met Crowley’s. “I think we fell in love.”

Crowley’s body went stiff. It was a long moment before he remembered how to speak again, and when he did his tongue was tripping over itself at every word. “No. I… pfffft. Noooo. Can’t’ve. I mean, I’m a _demon_ we don’t… and you’re an _angel_… too… you know your lot don’t… pffft… friends? _Maybe_… but… but in l- in… no… nah, not even close angel.”

“I kept thinking to myself, this is some odd trick we’re suffering but at least we’re in it together,” Aziraphale said. “_At least we’re in it together_. That and… and… well I was wrong. I _do_ have a type. It’s smart mouthed pricks who give me a run for my money, who keep my wheels spinning. Those who push me to do the right thing, regardless of it’s in the name of good or evil.” Aziraphale’s voice grew more certain with each sentence. “Someone like you. Maybe even, _only you_.”

“Aziraphale you’ve gone off track. You really were onto something before but this is just insane.”

“No, no. I see it now. I see it clearer now more than ever,” Aziraphale said. “_I love you_. And you love me. And _they_ made us forget. And for that… for that I am going to strike holy vengeance upon whoever, or whatever, is responsible for this. I swear it.”

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the study door. They both turned and stared at it. As Elsa’s voice called out for Aziraphale, waltz music crept into the room, steadily growing louder and louder.

When they looked back at each other their clothes had changed. Aziraphale was in a black suit, and Crowley in his typical clothes but with the shirt done all the way up and a tie snug around his neck.

“The party?” Crowley pondered.

“Apparently, the next scene is eager to begin,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley pointed to the liquor cabinet, “Any votes for staying in here drinking the night away?”

“Last time you suggested that we were hastily pulled along back into our roles,” said Aziraphale.

Elsa’s voice called from the other side of the door again. “If you don’t come out here Azira, the children are going to have a terrible time.”

“Case in point,” Aziraphale said. Louder he shouted to the door, “Coming dear!” Aziraphale obediently rose to his feet, throwing Crowley an apologetic smile.

“Play along to keep the kids safe,” Crowley said. “Pretty effective tool to make us dance like puppets.”

“I have to,” said Aziraphale, softly.

“I know.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale, throwing a quick whisper into his ear, “_If_ this is some fabrication by some demonic mastermind, they’d have eyes and ears everywhere. Be careful about every word you say.”

As Aziraphale had feared, and the children had hoped, the party was heavily populated. The house was filled with fancy looking people, and Crowley’s demonic fingers immediately began to itch. It was a matter of seconds before he had set about lighting fire to a gentlemen’s sleeve ‘accidentally’. A matter of minutes before he had sent the children on errands to slip fake worms into the canapes. And less than an hour before multiple people had tripped over their sneakily tied together shoelaces.

The baroness had glued herself to Aziraphale’s arm with an iron grip. Throughout the night, he became locked into enough mundane greetings and conversations to make an angel consider falling. The dark side filled with freedom and mayhem and mischief didn’t seem so terrible after all.

The music was jaunty, and Crowley spent much of the night dancing, primarily with the children outside. He slipped back inside to dance with one particular gentleman he’d been eyeing and had concluded was one intimate dance with a handsome man away from ruining his married life. It wasn’t intimate music, but Crowley had a talent for grinding. The fact that Aziraphale’s gaze constantly wandered to the two of them only enhanced Crowley’s enthusiasm.

He wouldn’t admit to being smitten for the angel and he certainly wouldn’t admit to the possibility that he _loved_ him, but he was attractive, an entertaining flirt, and awfully fun to tease. Well it was fun until Aziraphale managed to wrestle himself apart from Elsa and harshly pry Crowley off of his target of temptation.

“You’re doing a horrendous job, that looks nothing like a waltz,” Aziraphale said. “Allow me to show you.” He held out his hand towards Crowley.

What the hell, he thought. “Mmmm sure.” Crowley took the hand excepting to be twirled on the dancefloor but instead he was pulled outside onto the terrace where the children were dancing.

“Children, clear the way,” commanded Aziraphale. “We are going to share a dance.” The children made their way to the outskirts of the gazebo and sat down watching them, eager to see what would happen next. They were beaming conspiratorial smiles and sharing knowing glances.

“Little devils,” Crowley muttered.

“Only because you raised them that way,” Aziraphale said. Then, the angel bowed.

“Should I bow or curtsey?” Crowley asked sardonically.

“Whichever makes you happiest my dear,” Aziraphale said. The sudden niceties on behalf of the angel was throwing Crowley off guard.

Crowley curtsied. He meant it as a joke but Aziraphale didn’t take it as one. Instead he took Crowley by his hands and began to dance with him. The distance from the house meant that the music was softer out here, almost seemly slower too. Or maybe there was an angelic miracle at play, making the tune more rustically romantic as it travelled through the garden.

Aziraphale span Crowley, and Crowley span Aziraphale in turn, and slowly their bodies were drawn closer and closer together until Crowley could feel the angel’s breath on his cheek.

“Trying to make the baroness jealous angel?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale placed a hand on his waist.

“I shouldn’t have to try. She _should_ be jealous. Very much so,” he said. “She doesn’t stand a chance.”

Crowley was aware that his body was simply a vessel, that a demon had control over bodily functions beyond what a normal human could control, but in that moment his heart had a mind of its own, hammering hard enough that he could feel it push painfully against his ribcage. He couldn’t’ve made his heartbeat slow down even if he put all of his magic and willpower toward the task.

_We fell in love. _That’s what Aziraphale had said._ We._ It wasn’t one sided. It was both of them. He still couldn’t believe it, _wouldn’t_ believe it. But he believed that the angel was clever, and in general knew what he was talking about.

Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Tell me, angel, do Maria and von Trapp eventually get together?”

Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s in kind, “Why don’t you tell me?”

Crowley had only been opened up to the idea that he was even capable of love a few hours ago. His body felt almost physically ill accepting that maybe there was a chance, a possibility, that Aziraphale had been right. His forked tongue had run out of words so instead he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and hugged him tightly. Hoping it was an effective enough way of saying, _I don’t know yet, but I’m getting there_. And a moment passed before the baroness tore them apart.

“Why that was beautifully done. What a lovely couple you make,” she said with a touch of cold malice.

“Yes. I think we rather do,” Aziraphale said.

“Almost a shame to break it up, but I rather think it’s time we put the party to rest, don’t you?” Elsa prompted, taking Aziraphale back into her arms.

“Oh fantastic, it’s time for the part where all the children sing goodbye to every single house guest,” said Aziraphale, throwing Crowley the most sarcastic smile he had ever seen.

“You’re kidding me,” said Crowley.

“I’m afraid I’m not!” Aziraphale said.

After the most obnoxious farewell song a demon could be subjected to, Max pulled Crowley aside, inviting him to join him for dinner to discuss inducting Crowley into the festival choir. With some pointed nodding from Aziraphale behind Max’s shoulder, Crowley accepted. The lot of them stood silently, Aziraphale’s hands waving desperately as he tried to mime Crowley’s next line. Crowley shot him a confused, frustrated frown.

Aziraphale sighed. “Don’t you think you should change into something else, Crowley?”

“Oh… yes… sure. Let me… change into dinner suitable clothes… and I’ll be right down?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale gave him a thumbs up. The baroness curtly followed Crowley as he made his way upstairs, while Aziraphale talked with the few straggling guests about his delightful troupe of musical children.

“Very kind of you to join me,” said Crowley, taking off his shirt once inside his room.

Elsa immediately looked repulsed. “I’m delighted Crowley. Now… why don’t you put on that lovely blue thing you were wearing the other day when the Captain couldn’t take his eyes off you?”

“Couldn’t take his eyes off me, eh?” Crowley said, picking up the aforementioned shirt and giving it a sniff.

“Come on my dear, let’s not pretend we don’t know when a man notices us.”

“Oh I wasn’t. Just happy to hear it is all. I suppose you’re right, Aziraphale notices a lot of things, but men and women aren’t often amongst them.”

“Well,” the baroness ran her fingers over the lump of second-hand timber which constituted Crowley’s bed. “There’s nothing more irresistible to a man than a demon who’s in love with him. And of course… him thinking he’s in love with you too…”

Crowley was about to say something along the lines of, ‘Yeah obviously he’s in love with me. Told me himself’ but something told him to bite his tongue. An instinct of sorts.

“In love with me?” Crowley said instead, feigning shock and ignorance.

“Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks into your eyes. And you know you blushed in his arms when you danced just now.”

Crowley snarled. “Nah. I’m a demon, dancing’s just fun, doesn’t mean a thing to me. Just trying to tempt an angel away from his heavenly ordained woman, that’s all. As for him… he’ll get over it soon enough, men always do.” Crowley shot a look to his briefcase and grabbed it. “But you know… you’re right. Just to be certain, I should go.”

“Of course,” Elsa said watching Crowley dash for the door. “Oh and, don’t say a word of this conversation to the Captain.”

“No, no. Wouldn’t dream of it.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by both cheeks and hissed directly into his face. “You’re so clever angel. You were right. You were right about _everything._ I think they’re trying to draw out a confession from us. The baroness just gave me an interrogation about how we feel about each other. Whether I love you. I denied it.”

“But that’s just part of the play,” said Aziraphale, his smooshed face wrought with concern.

“No, it’s not. She’s definitely one of them. You can’t trust her. Honestly, anyone could be working for our tormentor, you can’t trust anyone with what we know… Look, she’ll be down any minute. Just, pretend I mean nothing to you. Wine and dine her. _Love her_. Or they’ll win. And if they’re my lot, once they win, they’ll move onto hurting us. _Really_ hurting us. I’ve got to go. Just please, trust me on this. Love her, sincerely. And…” he paused for a moment, staring at Aziraphale’s stunned face. Gentle, warm, pink lips slightly parted, and the touch of sparking tears on his lashes. “Pretend you’ve forgotten me, but don’t actually forget me, alright?”

He pulled Aziraphale into a quick, tight hug, barely hearing the him whisper back, “I could never forget you.” Crowley looked upon the angel one last time, and then stormed out the front door.


	3. Intermission

Crowley and Aziraphale did nothing for about 30 minutes.


	4. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale.

Aziraphale sat in his office, having suffered hours of digging through old books in angelology, demonology, ancient and modern mythology. He had moved on to psychology, and even a book on neurology which had proved a dead end as neither he nor Crowley were very in touch with their human-brain body parts. All in all, his head was swimming in ‘ologies’ and his very human brain was beginning to threaten to unspool itself onto his desk at any moment now. Instead he gazed out of his study window, the same one he and Crowley had climbed through to take a stroll one night several weeks ago when this had all started. Now golden sunlight poured through it, warming his skin and inviting him into the world in which he was trapped.

It really was an idyllic day. All a part of emphasising the torture, he supposed. He saw his children playing a ball game with a rather unimpressed baroness. Lazily she threw the ball, and constantly cast longing glances to where Max was sipping lemonade, reclining and relaxed in the shade.

“Baroness, can we stop playing now, we’re tired?” asked Brian.

“Oh, whatever you want dear,” said Elsa, clearly relieved. She wasted no time as she made a beeline for the lemonade and adult company.

The kids sat down and spoke amongst themselves in a hushed grumble. With a minor miracle on his part, Aziraphale listened in.

“Crowley was so much more fun than she is,” said Pepper.

“He came up with way better things to do than stupid ball games,” huffed Adam.

Aziraphale had to agree. Crowley was much more enriching company to behold, but he had to play his part. He had to wait for Crowley to re-enter von Trapp’s narrative naturally. A worrisome tingle crawled its way up Aziraphale spine. Waiting, waiting, waiting. They were in Act II now and they were running out of time.

He looked at his book once more, something on medieval torture devices. They were all pointy sticks and blunt force weapons, archaic emphasis on physical pain. None of the good books on psychological torture would come along until _after_ the war. Not to mention the following cold war was where humans started to get _really creative_.

“I don’t like singing,” Pepper’s voice carried its way through the office window. Aziraphale turned back and saw her and the other kids looking downcast, talking glumly to Max.

“Not without Crowley, he makes funny lyrics,” said Brian.

“Come on children, grab the fiddle, give us a tune,” said Max trying to maintain an upbeat aura.

Adam sighed and retrieved the fiddle Max had bought him. It was a beautiful black piece with gold details. It belonged in a display case, or a museum, and not in the hands of a child.

“Now impress me!” said Max.

What followed were the most bleak and uninspired lines of audio angelic ears had ever been subjected to. Aziraphale turned back to his work and began to read in much the same mood. The drivel continued and Aziraphale abandoned his books, walking through the house and heading outside.

On his arrival the baroness passed him a glass of lemonade which he immediately abandoned.

“Father, is it true that Nanny Crowley isn’t returning?” asked Pepper breaking the song immediately.

“You saw his note. He missed life at the Abbey too much.”

“But he didn’t even say goodbye,” said Brian.

“He did in the note.”

“That doesn’t count,” said Pepper.

Aziraphale took the glass of lemonade and slowly drank it in its entirety.

“Well who’s going to be our new nanny?” asked Wensleydale.

Aziraphale looked at the baroness. She really was a beautiful woman. Like a movie starlet with white hair that shone in the sunlight. He was sure people often inaccurately likened it to a halo, but Aziraphale possessed the genuine article and hers was nowhere near as remarkable. She was educated, and he read to her often. She enjoyed poetry and novels but never complained about them. Never threw salt at the pretentiousness of them. She wasn’t the worst company, and that was the best he could settle for.

_Lover her. Sincerely._

It wasn’t how the play went, but he trusted Crowley and at the very least, it would buy them more time.

“You’re not going to have a new nanny. You’re going to have a mother,” he said, wrapping an arm around Elsa.

The children looked dumbfounded. Aziraphale gave them a stern look and cleared his throat. A second later, the children all obediently kissed the baroness’ cheek.

“Um can we… go and play in the countryside?” asked Adam.

Aziraphale was hesitant, “Well… alright. Just watch out for… Nazis I suppose…”

“Obviously,” huffed Pepper. The children ran off in an instant.

Crowley had spent the past few days in silent prayer, much to his chagrin. He was called into Beelzebub’s office, kissed the demon’s hand, and then began to pace around the room.

They stared at Crowley. “You’ve been sent back to uzz,” buzzed the demon.

“I wasn’t sent away, no, no. I did my job perfectly. Corrupted the children, angel didn’t suspect a thing. I returned of my own accord.”

“Why?”

“Oh you know, missed… the stairs and cold stone walls and the stench too much,” Crowley said running his hand along a dusty windowsill.

“Don’t lie to me,” they said.

“Fine, the angel found me out. He found out… a rather lot about me,” Crowley said, his voice sinking. “It was quite horrendous, to be _known_ like that. Better than you know yourself. I was slipping a little, but I’m devoted to Hell, so I came back. You know, to fix myself up. Couldn’t face him again.”

“Do you love him?” asked Beelzebub. Crowley’s pacing stopped. Ah so she was a part of it too.

“A demon in love? Ridiculous,” Crowley scoffed. “With an angel nonetheless! That’s funny. Sure to make the guys laugh when I tell them later. Good one Beez.”

“We were berry picking,” said Brian.

“Berry picking?” asked Aziraphale. “All afternoon?”

“Yes, we picked thousands of them,” said Pepper.

“What kind of berries?” asked Aziraphale.

“Um… blueberries,” said Adam.

“It’s too early for blueberries.”

“Strawberries,” said Wensleydale. “It’s been so cold lately they’d turned blue.”

“Well now,” said Aziraphale. “There’s only one person you could’ve seen who would teach you how to construct a lie that flimsy… It wouldn’t be Nanny Crowley would it?”

“Certainly not,” said Pepper. “Why would you even mention him? Do you miss him?”

“Not at all,” said Aziraphale.

“Of course you miss him,” said Wensleydale. “We miss him too. We liked him. And he makes you so much happier than the baroness does. You _must_ miss him.”

Aziraphale felt a lump form in his throat. “Barely given him a passing thought since he left, to be honest. You know my heart is set on the baroness.”

“What colour are her eyes?” asked Adam.

“What?”

“Her eyes, what colour are they?” Adam pushed.

“They’re… uh… well they’re…” Aziraphale trailed off. “Sparkling. Lovely eyes. Like uh… like the fresh dew on the grass in the morning.”

“And what colour are Crowley’s eyes?”

“That’s hardly fair! His eyes are shimmering golden, serpentine and remarkably memorable,” said Aziraphale. A moment later he processed what had slipped off his tongue. “And ghastly! Oh so repulsive and… demonic. I simply gag to think of them. _Gag in a bad way._ Now stop this line of questioning at once children, I was the one interrogating you lot.”

The kids’ heads all sank in unison.

“But uh, well, just tell me,” added Aziraphale. “How was he?”

“Oh we didn’t get to see him,” said Adam. “He must miss us an awful lot though. We should all pay him a visit sometime. Don’t you think father? Don’t you want to see him too?”

Aziraphale tried to hold a stiff face. _Anyone could be working for our tormentor._ Even the children. _His _children. They were all staring at him, doting on his response, peaceful, single minded, acting like they never had before.

“Absolutely not,” said Aziraphale. “He was a dreadful influence on you children. The singing was fine but I know he was teaching you lots of awful little tricks. I wouldn’t trust a demon as far as I could throw him. Then again I _could_ throw one pretty far so that was an under-exaggeration. Don’t get yourselves into any more trouble children. Be little good-doers as I’ve raised you!”

With that he turned and briskly headed for his home.

As he retreated he heard the voices of his children filling the air, a familiar song with words screaming of Crowley’s doing.

_“When the hound bites  
When the Beelzebub stings_”

But then a fifth voice joined them, deeper, much more controlled, older, wiser and more familiar for someone Aziraphale supposedly had only met a matter of weeks ago.

_“When I'm feeling sad_  
I simply remember my favourite things  
And then I don't feel so bad.”

He turned to see Crowley hugging the children. Aziraphale wanted to shout, scream to him in warning, but he couldn’t. He needed to maintain character and keep secret his insightful knowledge. He had to be hardened von Trapp, as well as hardened Aziraphale who didn’t care for Crowley.

“I missed you so much!” said Wensleydale hugging the demon tightly.

“I missed you too. All of you!” said Crowley. “How have you been?”

“Miserable!” wailed Adam. “Father’s planning on getting married, isn’t that awful.”

“Married?!” said Crowley. The demon finally noticed Aziraphale who had been staring from a distance. Dark sunglasses met bright blue eyes. Aziraphale gave him a curt nod. “What do you mean miserable, you’re going to have a mother again. Isn’t that great?”

“But she doesn’t love him! She’s awful!” wailed Pepper. “You know, just because he’s a man and she’s a woman doesn’t mean they’re meant to be together. That’s just heteronormative!”

“Come on it’s not like that,” said Crowley, kneeling down as the children gathered around him. “Your father is a stuffy, old fashioned, grumpy pants and she’s young and sweet. They balance each other out. They’re perfect for each other. Good little children like you should be over the moon for you dear ole pa’s happiness.”

Crowley stood up and guided the children up towards the house. “Now go inside and wreak some havoc, just like I taught you.” The kids followed his instruction, and finally Crowley and Aziraphale were alone.

“Listen Crowley, the children they’re-”

“Just delightful little things,” said Elsa appearing from behind Aziraphale suddenly. She took her fiancé’s arm tightly. “They were so distraught at how suddenly you took your leave, Crowley.”

“Yeah, uh, my bad,” said Crowley. “Not one for getting attached or having… uh… emotions… or any sort of bondage really. I’m a lone wolf.”

Aziraphale gave his eyes a roll.

“Well, you’re back now. Why is that? You must have been missing someone?” she asked.

“The kids,” said Crowley. “Not that I care about them or anything, but they’re just so much fun. I figured they still need a nanny. Four kids is too much work even for a spritely young woman like yourself, baroness. Oh and I heard about the wedding, congratulations! Can’t imagine anyone falling for this sentient walking beige suit and bowtie, but you did it somehow. Anyway, I have children to tend to, so ciao!”

Crowley slipped past the pair and disappeared into the house post haste. Aziraphale turned to the baroness and took her by the waist.

“You’re looking gorgeous as always dear… uh, suitably, pretty and… perfumed…” Aziraphale’s words fumbled off. He was usually good with words. Had studied them for years and years and had written a fair measure of letters and stories himself. The problem was he was utterly useless with them when he was uninspired. Instead he closed his eyes and leant in for a kiss. He waited, but the baroness did not kiss him back.

There was a rush of wind and when Aziraphale opened his eyes it was night-time and he was on the second floor balcony of his home. Confused he turned to the baroness whose clothes were different from moments before.

“Azira, are you alright?” she asked with a giggle and a smile. The inertia of a sudden scene-change clung to Aziraphale, but he remembered his task at hand and stuck to it.

“I was just thinking about where we should go for our honeymoon. A trip around the world, perhaps? Or maybe just one place. Taking our time. Getting to know the city and each other intimately.”

Elsa gave him a serious look. “Azira, it’s no use. You and I. You’re being dishonest and it’s utterly unfair to me. We both know you have no interest in marrying me.”

“No, no not at all,” said Aziraphale. “I mean, _yes_. I do. Want you. To marry you and to uh…”

“Listen, as fond as I am of you, I really don’t think you’re the right man for me. I need someone who needs me. Needs my money. You don’t care about money. You don’t care about anything materialistic really, do you angel? Even your books, they’re something you love because of the knowledge they contain not because of their value or their appearance. It’s the way they enrich you. The way they let you touch the minds of the authors.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, the covers are quite nice sometimes,” stammered Aziraphale. “Especially when they’re… feminine and… womanly…”

Elsa let out a mighty sigh. “Listen, I’m going to go inside and pack my bags. And you’re going to go down there,” she said pointing to where Crowley was taking a midnight stroll along the lakeside, “and tell him how you really feel.”

She disappeared before Aziraphale could say another word.

Aziraphale stood on the balcony watching Crowley for a little while. The demon was skipping stones across the lake, creating ripples in the otherwise calm water. It seemed fitting. Crowley finding something peaceful and adding a little chaos to it. Except it wasn’t really chaos. Ripples travelled outwards in perfect rings expanding from where the rocks had landed. Organised and balanced chaos, like a bastard angel meeting a nice demon.

As the rings spread, eventually they would touch other rings, creating a new shape. Mathematically there’d be a way to calculate and predict the patterns all out. But mathematics wasn’t Aziraphale’s specialty, poetry was. Poetically there was probably a way to explain how ripples originated and interacted and shaped and reshaped the reality around them. Maybe he’d be the one to put those words together properly.

Aziraphale’s house was large. It was a long, slow, and populated journey downstairs. Anathema and Newt held him up, asking about Crowley. The children, looking the picture of innocent happiness professed their joy at Crowley’s return. At how perfect the house was now that Crowley and Aziraphale were back together.

Aziraphale burst outside, walking as briskly as he could while trying to look natural and calm, finally reaching Crowley.

“Crowley,” he said, almost out of breath.

“What are you doing here? Moonlit, midnight rendezvous? Hardly platonic,” said Crowley. He picked up another rock and threw it at the lake.

“Maria and von Trapp talk alone at this part, it’s fine it’s all part of the play. But… well so is everyone else. They’re all a part of it. Not just Elsa, but the children, Anathema and Newt.”

“I know. Beelzebub was trying to extract a confession from me. I came to warn you.”

Crowley picked up another rock and threw it. The night was silent except for the ‘plink, plink, plink’ of the pebble across the water.

“Do you love me?” asked Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley turned to him looking downright furious. “That’s exactly the question they want us to answer.”

“Yes but, that’s the thing. It’s the question _they_ want us to answer. It’s just us right now and we’re the only two who aren’t a part of it,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley stared at him. He dropped the rock which he had held in his hands. Only if you looked closely, had spent a lifetime as a book collector who had trained yourself to notice minute details, knew Crowley’s face as intricately as Aziraphale did, could you see the crestfallen, broken expression which now fell upon it.

“You’re a part of it too,” whispered Crowley, his voice cracking as he spoke the words.

“Oh, curse your demonic mistrust,” Aziraphale sighed. “Of course, I’m not a part of it!”

“Everyone I’ve ever known, all my demon pals, Anathema, Newt, even the children, they’re all secretly a part of it. So, why wouldn’t you be too?” Crowley threw his hands in the air in hysteria. “Oh, wouldn’t that just hurt!” He shouted to the sky, to the heavens. “Wouldn’t that truly be torture, huh?!”

“I’m not a part of it Crowley! I’m here, with you, being tormented just like you are,” Aziraphale said, his voice growing more desperate. He reached for Crowley’s hands, trying to still him and calm him down. “Crowley I’m on your side! I always have been, and always will.”

“How do I know?”

“You have to trust me.”

“How do I know?!” Crowley screamed it in his face.

“Because I love you!”

Crowley scoffed at the words and it broke Aziraphale’s heart. “A tempting thing to say when trying to extract a confession,” the demon said.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale searched him, desperately looking him in the eyes, holding his gaze, but he soon realised that sweet angelic looks wouldn’t win over the suspicious mind of Crowley. He was a demon, he was used to being betrayed and stabbed in the back. Aziraphale sighed, “Look at me. You _know_ I’m different. I’m trapped here with you. You and me, whoever we really are, we’re different. Heaven and Hell, they both _like_ demons and angels. They like the clear distinction between who is good and who is evil. But us, we’re messy, we blur the lines. You’re a demon who is prone to doing good and I’m an angel prone to doing wrong. And for that, they, _both sides_, think that we’re abominations. We’re vile. Disgusting. Grotesque. Even my fake baroness fiancée wouldn’t kiss me, because she’s a part of it. She’s one of the actors. Don’t you see… They think we’re the most unbecoming creatures to ever exist. That means that both demons and angels find us repulsive. Whoever it is that’s been acting through these fictitious vessels, nothing on either side could bring themselves to do this-”

Aziraphale then stepped forward and kissed Crowley.

The angel pulled him closer and holding him in place and deepening the kiss. Fully committed, fully engaged. Crowley couldn’t move. His heart was hammering away, as the angel’s lips made the smallest, slightest movements against his. His serpent eyes remained open, stuck watching the blurry image of Aziraphale’s face against his, barely making out the angel’s own eyes shut tightly. When the angel stepped back Crowley’s mind lagged. He felt drunk. Worse even, as he had no way of magically sobering up from this.

“You stupid angel, what if they saw us?” he stammered out.

“It wouldn’t’ve mattered,” said Aziraphale. “You trusting me is the most important thing in the world.” The moonlight was dim but Crowley had excellent night vision and saw a glint of light reflect off the tears on the angel’s cheek.

“I trust you,” Crowley said. “And, I tried to say it earlier. That you were right about everything. Not just about the… simulation or hallucination. Not just the spies. You were right about _us_. We’re in love. I’m… I am in love with you. Have been for a long time. Long, long time. Whatever’s doing this to us, it’s powerful but not powerful enough to make me forget something like that.”

Aziraphale’s body sank in relief, releasing a wound up stress held since the barely reciprocated kiss they had just shared.

“But why make us forget that we’re in love only to then try to make us fall in love again? It doesn’t make any sense?” said Aziraphale.

“Torture,” said Crowley. “We pissed off Hell, demon’s capture us, we become their playthings. Willing to create the most elaborate, complex and goddamn specific torture scenario just for us. Our own personal Hell.”

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t add up,” said Aziraphale. His eyes drifted to the lake again, watching the last of the dying ripples. Their lines had crossed too many times, their movements now untraceable in pattern. Chaos. He looked back at Crowley and suddenly the chaos turned into clarity. “Crowley! Oh Crowley you absolute genius! This world, it _is _so complex. Elaborate. Expansive! My house, your church, they’re huge, and these hills go on forever. And the people, the children, they’re so multi-dimensional. And to suppress the memory of a demon _and_ an angel, simultaneously. All of that takes a lot of work, even for a very powerful demon. So whoever it is, they have to be very close to us right now. The real us, I mean. Our real bodies. So if it is close to us, that means that we are close to each other.” Aziraphale pointed at the water. “If you and I could just make a ripple, reach out, intersect, and touch, maybe it would be enough.”

“Enough to do what?”

“To understand the pattern. Reverse engineer it. Find where it originated from. To find ourselves again. To wake up.”

“Okay that makes no sense. And what do you mean touch each other. You’re touching me, right now.”

“The real us,” said Aziraphale. “In Hell. If we’re lucky a stimulus from the real world will break our minds out of this daydream. And if we’re _really_ lucky, our torturer will be drained of energy from maintaining this illusion, and we might have a brief window of opportunity to escape. You have to reach out to me Crowley, we don’t have much time.”

“Why?”

“Because the play is over soon and I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t have a very happy ending.”

Crowley’s face lit up. “Oh Hell yeah, that’s brilliant!”

“Not while we’re still _in it _it’s not.”

“Oh fuck you’re right, that’s terrible.”

“So let’s get a wriggle on. Let me thing, the next scene is…” Aziraphale’s face went pale. “Oh… Oh no you know what. Let’s wait to go to the next scene. I think it will help. At the right moment. Do it. Reach for me. It will be our only chance.”

“Aziraphale, what’s the next scene?”

Aziraphale gave him a devious smile.

“Tell me angel, what is it?!”

Aziraphale simply put his hands over Crowley’s eyes, covering them completely. The darkness swallowed him. He felt his body transform. From the cold night air nipping at his loose fitting shirt, to his body being hugged tightly. He heard a loud bell ring, Aziraphale’s warm hands disappeared, and suddenly he could see once more. Around him were the children in formal clothes, in his hands was a bouquet and on him was a large white wedding dress.

The consecrated ground began to burn his feet and he started to hop, skip and jump his way through the church. Amongst the crowd of people, the clanging of bells and the choir of voices singing, “_How do you solve a problem like A-Crowley,” _it took him an embarrassingly long time to realise he was walking – hopping – down the aisle. Waiting for him at the end was Aziraphale, looking more like Captain Fell than he ever had, wearing a sleek black military uniform adorned with shining medals.

Crowley’s eyes were frightful, shocked, disoriented, and pained from the consecration eating away at his flesh. Aziraphale simply beamed a warmer smile at him, a look beautiful enough to almost ebb away the physical pain. Crowley reached Aziraphale, and dancing on the spot, he realised Aziraphale was actually trying his best to fight back a fit of laughter.

“Aziraphale you bastard!” hissed Crowley.

“I love you, Crowley, now reach to me,” said Aziraphale. Crowley reached his hands out. Aziraphale slapped his palms. “No. Not here. In Hell. The real us. Reach to me.”

“I don’t know _how_.”

“You do. I love you. I’m a creature of love. I radiate love so _sense_ me. Feel me. Reach to me. And I’ll reach for your love too.”

Even in a veil and perfect hair Crowley looked like a lost mess. Aziraphale was stalwart, his blue eyes filled with adoration and confidence. As though he had any idea what they were doing. Whether he was feigning confidence or whether it was the genuine article, Crowley trusted him. A beacon to follow. The faces of the crowd looked at them, hungrily. In a world of only enemies, Aziraphale was his one friend. His lover.

Crowley finally stopped dancing, letting the pain seep up his legs. He closed his eyes, drowned out the pain, the bells, the singing. He thought of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale only. His love in front of him, around him. Warmth and kindness, adoration.

He didn’t know where to begin searching. Where to reach.

_Make a ripple. Intersect._

For six thousand years Crowley had been told he couldn’t love. But for six thousand years he had known Aziraphale. Had been falling for Aziraphale. Crowley had lied to himself, and the world and even the angel the entire time. But now he was allowed to tell the truth. To say to the angel, to the world and to his own demonic heart,

I love you, Aziraphale.

The call.

I love you, Crowley.

And the response.

His fingers, lonely and long abandoned, were touched by a caring, tender, and calloused hand. He reached further, wrapping his fingers tightly around the hand it could feel. And then a very powerful spell was broken.

His eyes opened and for the first time in a long time he was blinded by heavenly light.

“Angel, we did it!” said Crowley, his serpentine pupils struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness which surrounded him. The tug of Aziraphale’s arm was helping to draw him from the dream and into the real world.

They were in a sparse room. Three chairs. One seating Aziraphale, one Crowley and between them was a tired looking Gabriel struggling to regain consciousness.

Crowley sprang to his feet, his legs, which again, he was never much good at using, wobbled as he did so. In an instant Aziraphale was at his side, holding him steady. “We have to go angel.”

“Heaven?” said Aziraphale. “Why are we in heaven?!”

“I don’t know but I’m not much in the mood to stick around asking questions,” said Crowley.

“Too bad, because I am,” said Aziraphale. “We’ve been interrogated for _weeks._ I think it’s time we got some answers of our own.” He let go of Crowley, walked forwards and slapped Gabriel. “What the bloody hell is going on!”

Gabriel’s eyes finally managed to focus. “Damn it,” he grumbled. He remained in his chair, panting, slowly recovering from the exhaustion of the spell. “Well, we got the confession from you two anyway.”

“Since when was heaven in the business of torture?” asked Aziraphale.

“Torture?” asked Gabriel. “Who said anything about torture?

“That was the most horrendous experience of my life,” said Crowley. “And I _work_ in Hell.”

“It wasn’t torture. It’s the Sound of Music. It’s the most romantic musical ever written,” said Gabriel.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Crowley.

“No, that checks out,” mumbled Aziraphale. “Heaven has a very limited repertoire when it comes to literature.”

“And why would we look further than perfection?” added Gabriel. “The Sound of Music is a masterpiece. No one playing the roles of Maria and von Trapp could help but fall in love, unless of course, one happened to be and angel and the other a demon. A _proper_ angel and a _proper_ demon, that is. Naturally repulsed, hereditary enemies. So opposite that even the romantic allure of the Sound of Music wouldn’t be enough to inhibit this animosity. Unless you’re you two.”

“But _why?_” asked Aziraphale.

“Heaven and Hell wanted to be certain that you were both irredeemable agents, for our respective sides. We ran the test, and you failed. So, basically, you’re fired, Aziraphale. Oh and Hell extended the rights to terminate your employment to us as well, Crowley.” Gabriel got to his feet and pulled out a flaming sword. “You’re also fired. Praise Heaven.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and they began to run.

They ran as fast as their celestial bodies could carry them. They had only recently woken up but they were long since in love, and that was more than enough to power them past the hoards of angels springing to their posts to hunt them down.

Clouds parted and Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hand. “Want to know what it feels like to fall from grace?” he asked, before he pulled them both downwards and unfurled his wings. A moment later Aziraphale’s white wings materialised too. With synchronised movements, they combined their freefall with a glide through the air.

“I never got to find out, how does the musical end?!” shouted Crowley over the rush of the wind.

“They exit stage right pursued by Nazis!” shouted back Aziraphale.

“What?!”

“The Nazis come and drive them out of the country, chasing them away from their home.”

“I guess a legion of angels was the closest thing to a militant army who demands uniformity in ideology and practice that heaven could find on short notice,” said Crowley.

“There’s that snide literary analysis I love you for,” shouted back Aziraphale.

“Bit of a bleak ending for a romantic musical though, don’t you think?” Crowley mused with a tilt of his wings to dodge the whir of a flaming arrow.

“Oh I don’t know," said Aziraphale, "It ends with a hopeful air. Knowing that lot, you figure they’ll probably be alright, in the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Watt-Pad user ‘Special_Effect’ for uploading the whole Sound of Music film script so I didn’t have to watch any of the movie:  
https://www.wattpad.com/33483917-the-sound-of-music-screenplay-act-i
> 
> come say hi to me on tumblr: apocahipster
> 
> thanks for reading xx

**Author's Note:**

> Whole work is written just uploading it in parts as I proof read it  
Also I made it my personal quest to write this whole thing without re-watching the movie.


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